


The Former Spy's Visitor

by MadFantasy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animated GIFs, Art, M/M, Post-War, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:00:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22037437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadFantasy/pseuds/MadFantasy
Summary: A brief description of a finished artwork turned into whatever this is.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 5
Kudos: 67





	The Former Spy's Visitor

Two half portioned bottles nestled on an abandoned jumble of hay and sticks at the attic's windowsill. A slight ruffle in the air reminded the two sleepily foaming potions inside them to activate their numbed effect. They struck each other with a sudden distinctive ting, drawn instantly —like a magnet— to one another, but just as quickly evoked the other bottle away, as if the combination of the two now found not to be mixed. 

However, as soon as the close proximity cleared; once more they pulled each other with the same impact, a sharp tingle. On the repeat for a while. 

The glass grinding, though very faint, easily reached Severus's uncanny hearing— downstairs. By the ear above where a scar climbed over his stretched skin like a defacing embroidery. He heard even more, of what can't be possibly heard, through the prickles passing his hypersensitive drum; the potion's insides that writhed with another. 

Angrily smacking and hissing against the transparent walls to break free. Charging to eliminate the barrier, that stood between their inevitable submerging into each other's molecules— every single last one of them, entwined until there's no hope of separation.

...Or has this been his surfacing feeling, over the familiar disturbance he sensed in the wards, firmly clamped on his newly found home.

There was a raging snowstorm, clustering high in the guts of the heavens, but everything stood eerily still outside his little corner on this world. The muting silence had a dulling effect on any arising sounds, the need to put any detecting enchantments was waste of a wand flick, as his senses were already ferociously awake, on their own— worked fine in that favor. 

It was a must that he isolates his body first from the drone of daily life. His mind needed peace— surely, but his overstimulated body simply could not function without it. 

After the injury, his seamless lack of reaction and calculated, deliberate, declamatory responses and on point spell work have turned over on its head. His body tense to jittering. Nothing can pass him—no matter how trivial— without jolting a confusing reaction out of him, and worst yet, out of his wizarding charms. It always came alarmingly close to being destructive, if he did not exhaust overpowering governing.

He looked through the window, from where he stood; a smidge of shadow was forming into shape. The horizon behind it overseas— it seems— a past life that still followed. Far away, it should have felt, that life. 

The few recent years ago were a hazy blur, yet before them in time that life was a sharpened picture in his mind, nothing vague or censored for emotional convenience. He always lived on a sickening high level of suspense, He bore what he couldn't think possible, and did what he could to foresee any outcome. 

But after stricken with death's hand— or fangs; his body shattered, even before plunging over the circle of limits he well known.  
Exorcised out of his own flesh, leaving it beyond his reign of control. His body rebellious towards his strangling commands— deplorable, defaming, disdaining. Exposing a new version of him he could do little to hide, unfolding swiftly to his staggering self and to whom stood witness.. 

_He_.. was among the first.

The boy, it had to be Harry _bloody bucking_ Potter. 

Who else was his duty- his **everything** for all these years?  
It seemed now it's only right for Potter to meddle in his affairs beyond decency, as an owed bargain he had to fulfill. Taking advantage of his inability to refuse, to top it off. 

_What a conjunction_ ; apparently present on that day of all the days, on the hour out of them all, by his bedside. Conveniently placed in the front row to watch his descent to madness. 

To see him unable to contain the rhythmic flow of his magic in his veins, a serious magical impact casting off of him, pressing on the walls of the room and heavy on everyone's chest. Zigzagging between the levels of conjuring decent spell to a thundering threat of explosions, a blazing fire or stunning someone to smithereens... 

He could not speak, he could only fear anyone's touch to be their last. He was unable to communicate or move through pain and the spastic state of his body.  
The frustration of trying to pull himself together sagged on his mind until it almost broke. 

After all, if anything could have been dependable he found in himself, it was his supreme control over it.

Potter, _as the saint he is_ , heeding no one's warning, idiotically took to cradling his hand while his body sloped upwards in protest, at a time he visited when none of the healers can withstand his worst outburst yet. But to their surprise, Severus's body fell back limp in an instant. 

He woke to them suggesting with false smiles and gritted teeth, that he be put where all the un-containable go; an isolated ancient ward.  
Forgotten between a row of a hundred of similar doors until their sporadical magical threats are a danger to no one.  
The kinder phrasing for letting their magic drain until they extinguished into squibs.. or worse- extinguished from the face of the earth. 

Severus's repetition preceded him, it seemed. Yet, have not kept up with the recent developments. There was no pretense on their lack of interest to put up with —and cure— a death eater, former or not.

Potter refused their generous offer ( _we should be all so lucky_ ) might even fund better people to tend to him. It is his choice where he wastes his galleons. 

Severus could be truly conscious if Potter was around, at least he figured so, the clearest on his minds events he was in, one way or another. 

The rest of the periods were clammy, driven with intense self-restraint. Not helping that he often got engulfed in recurring nightmares, even the pain was a distance sensation while he was lost in these moments. 

But in his company, he was almost normal— one could interact with. Not much menacing loud sparks or crackling, no windows rattling behind them or sudden bizarre distortion to the furniture.. or the healers..

Potter was supposedly encouraged to visit him more often by the staff, when they made the connection. Telling him it was an enormous help for his health, or was it rather an enormous help for the healers to cure his still open wounds— _Not easier on the pride to say he was a singular wizard, all of them combined couldn't handle, alone_.

Harry obliged without much convincing.

He visited three times a month, then every two weeks, once a week, eventually came every afternoon.  
He would be sat by the bed for a while; watching the healers do their duties comfortably. 

The two never spoke directly to each other. As if Severus could do any but pitiful sort of raspy moans. 

Yet over time, Harry was growing bolder, whispering little remarks to Severus. Even more so, he started reading what the papers had to say about him, the better parts, respectively— or about potions or the riddles section that he enjoyed. Daring to read him his post, too- with a frown.

In response, Severus only gaged his gaze on him minutes at a time, flustering Harry after it passed the comfortable limit. He eventually learned the subtle indication Severus gave for replying when he was aware. He had no strong reaction to anything he did.. so far.

It was strange, to say the least. The comfort felt too odd, undeserved and will be snatched away any day now. There was always a nudge of disturbance Severus felt, he wanted to ask a lot of questions starting with 'why'. But effort left in him just enough to be awake, it was exhausting to think lucidly. He basked in the ease Harry brought to his body, instead. Often slept under his whispering chatter. 

_Hopelessly attached._

Of course, he was no stranger to frustration. His body grew sorely yearning for Harry's presence the second it sensed the departure. Another urge to carelessly wrestled with.   
Harry had been curiously, gradually, edging closer to be by him each passing day. And to Severus, each day the closeness was excruciatingly never enough to satisfy the crave.. until somewhere in time, he learned the mind-numbing experience of how fulfillment feels.

Harry pulled on his gown, once. He must've been assisting the healer in changing his bandages. Harry's fingers drummed on the bare skin of his shoulder then scratched a path as he pulled down.  
The sensation could have burned him alive, shot across his inflamed nerves, fulgent through his skin—it must have been. He let out a strangled gasp by the end of it.. 

When came to, he saw Harry blinking furiously behind his lenses for a wild second, a fraught yet fascinated expression mounted on his face. The healer backed a step away, shocked then dubious, dispersing looks between the two. 

Severus could feel his body tinkling pleasantly, warmth slowly receding, yet heat quickly gathered in his cheeks. He closed his eyes, ignoring their inquiries further.

It certainly left an impression on Harry, that little incident. As he gave him a touch or prod on his skin whenever he could, a sly smile playing on his lips— followed. 

He often stayed pass visiting hours, left peacefully alone with him, observing him as he pleased. Often, he eased the tension he spotted on him by placing his hand there or petting him, getting what he imagined grateful weak noises in reply.

On a warm day, he ran the back of his fingers gently on Severus's forearm. Following the blue creeks of his veins that protruded, and was not disappointed by the face Severus made. 

His eyes slightly shut— he could see the slits of white. Evidently relaxed, if not stimulated..

Severus, for the first time, caught his swiping fingers and rubbed briefly on them.  
As Harry watched, his eyelashes shuddering, a soft moan escaped him, prompting him to open his eyes—looking around, as if the noise he made was not by him.

Harry was gazing at him with tender eyes, green glinting warmer shade by the gentle ray of light illuminating his face. One of his lenses reflected the clear sky through the window above them. When he noticed Severus be awake, he smiled, slowly got up and leaned onto him. 

Severus never knew his body in such peek and eagerness, breathless, the gap between them rapidly closing— he must've been elevated upwards. Harry's hands at either side of him making an indent he could fall into forever, his scent suffocatingly richer with every inhale, somehow there were too many he was taking, the warmth of his breath was rising in temperature as came down, brushing his cheeks, the shadow casting off Harry slowly hid him from sight, hid colors shapes and sounds, hid the pain and weariness, hid memories and sense, hid the whole world from existence...

***

It's been a year last he saw Potter. 

He wasn't allowed to forget to count its days, as he received the reminder in the form of a daily mail. Brought to him by Potter's rustic owl. Tapping irritably on the attic window— finding it the loudest— at an ungodly hour of the morning. 

Severus only opened and sent them back, as _the cursed bird_ won't leave without seeing him opening the parcel. 

Lucky it can't read, because he scratched on the scroll with no ink to his quil. He had very little interest in having any kind of discussion.

He departed right after his untimely discharge— _disappearing_ , nothing on his mind but seeking solitude. Potter's sweeping spotlight shone undesirably on him, lying exposed to it for too long. He was dazzled, could see nothing outside Potter's blaze, very much had his fill, even if his body questioned otherwise. 

He needed to forget it all, or remember himself, and how to be it. 

Determinedly, Potter remained sending him oddities since he heard nothing back from his prolonged letters, anything his owl can carry. From awkwardly phrased greetings, articles he received for Severus and forward it back because they looked quite important— only for Severus to find it's from those 'specialists'. 

Those who relentlessly continued explaining away the disturbance that happened to the harmonious glide of magic through his blood. And how exactly he's better by the grace of the boy who lived through the impossible. 

Begging for comments about if the bite's influential dark powers were the cause, or the trauma, or the near-death experience. Trying to evoke an answer by accusatory theories, faking it for pity, abiding his disgrace by submitting himself to Potter, doing well under his luxurious mercy.

He usually threw those under the cauldron's fire when he received them, but he gave the new ones to his Spauldron to neatly shred them for brewing purposes, feeling particularly inspired. 

_Someone has earned themselves a hex._

He got plenty of un-cursed potion brewing requests to be inspired by, the ones Potter sent were nicely challenging- to read through if not brew. 

The dolt even sent his own mail by mistake, assumably rushed his owl without unloading it first. Severus kept some very interesting bulk of it. 

He recently sent him an indiscernible mass of fur— a scarf that unfolds to a coat-like cloak, snugs into you. Noting that he got it from Hagrid.. _to keep that scar warm_.

He got to wear it on a bone-chilling snowy occasion, unable to tolerate the sharp stabs that spread from the scar up. It has been part of his garment ever since, wrapped firmly against his nose.

_Innocently_ , it had Harry's scent doused in it, having also a similar touch to his scattered hair.

Severus found himself absentmindedly caressing the pressing fluff, his fingers coming off after sensationally buzzing with from its softness. Feeling the satisfying textures of his potions ingredients paled in comparison, his palms turning fleshy pink, similar to the time when he finished making his first love potion...

Chomping footsteps on deep snow staggered nearer, and the door swept open for them. 

In the frame stood a windswept, disheveled, ice burnt Harry Potter. 

Face gray to fraying, blue lips and jutting jaw muscles that tried to hold down his shuddering teeth. 

He tried to look presentable, failing miserably— random pieces of clothing worn haphazardly over his matching outfit, signaling how he predictably underestimated the harsh weather here. 

He let out a hitched sigh, his broom rattled on the floor, dismay written all over his face. He obviously entered anticipating hot air to flush out of the room, but it was just as freezing here as the outside if not unbelievably more. 

Clutched in his hand, his wand puffed a dim glow, managing to melt enough of the icy tips of his hair, his front, and unfogged his glasses, filling the room with temporary hot moisture. He heard a sniff from somewhere within. 

Now that he could see, a figure was standing near the only light source in the room—a window to his left. There was a table propped near it, and on it, a slim body in black leisurely leaned back. His veiny arms exposed to the light, white in contrast with the darkness surrounding. 

He searched his face, hidden where light could not reach, he was only able to see the spark of his unblinking eyes. 

Before he could do anything, sweeping cloth on wood came closer and the next second— Severus Snape emerged out of the shadows, to Harry's growing relief.

Overwhelmed in awe. It was the first time in a long time to see him on his feet, glaring down his sharply carved nose, as subtle, as sinister, a slight tilt in his head as he bore into him. Even with all that familiar baleful behavior, Harry couldn't help but feel so thrilled to see him very much.. animated. 

He tried to greet him, but his breath trembled breaking the coherence of his words.

Severus cocked an eyebrow in response but seemed too fixated and in no hurry to let him in, or start a bloody fire. He merely hovered over him, absorbing his present—hopefully— in the same way, Harry wished. 

He said nothing, Severus would utter words, he reclaimed his ability to speak. But not to Harry. His hands did the talking, they roamed, taking slow count of Harry's sweaters, each long finger folding one under it, while he looked deeply into Harry's squinting eyes, lips parted and breathing audibly. 

Potter is here, just as he feared. 

Harry is here and what he regained of intellect is gone. 

He had to chase him like a desperate promised deprived maiden, barraging him with agonized letters, pleading with him to reveal where he is, to give an answer, to give a hint, for his wellbeing— anything! As if expected him to do so in the name of virtue, in the very least.

Severus asked for none of this.. neither did he denied it..

He could have hidden till the end of time, what a small wonder, to find Potter here and now, at his doorstep. Flew through thundering storms to reach him. 

Forlornly, he felt tugged into the hedonism emanating from Harry, the exuberance of to see or know no more. 

The stinging frozen touch to he got from the back of Harry's head woke him from the trance, his doe eyes returned narrow and brooding. 

There was no discipline left in him.. 

Severus hands gripped and groped more earnestly. Brushing the snow off him, kneading what he could reach of his skin. Harry shuddered, eyelashes fluttering to the heat of his fingers eventually swiping across his scalp. He whimpered lovingly to his forearm...

.... if he thought he lost it before, Severus lost it now.

He lost it. Lost it all. 

Heart hammering so fast it filled his ears, robes were sliding off him and slithered from under the fur; obeying untold order, the scarf still held on to his scarred neck.

Eyes focusing over Harry's shoulder, Severus yanked his face to nuzzle under his jaw. 

Harry moaned appreciatively into his neck, it shot through his spine and he hissed to the awful contact of Harry's frozen skin.  
He breathed deeply into Severus' pulsating throat, his sealed mouth on it aquiver, the heat felt like vapor washing his stiffened face.

Severus's chest was heaving forward, asking to cohere with no fabric, he just about ripped Harry in half to rid him of his crispy wear. His hands on his quailing back, dug into Harry's robes pulling them apart with impossible ease. Harry gasped to the exposure and advanced into him, fleeing the cold breeze behind. His ashen fingertips reached inside the fur and brushed against Severus's burning hot sides. 

Even though he felt the constrict in his muscles and the muffled rumble of his throat in his ear, Severus did not release his reactions, inviting Harry to glue more of his body into him with open arms.

Harry, drunk with hotness— lazily thrust his bare chest into the warmth that beckoned it, knocking Severus back almost causing them to topple over the table behind them. The clash of cold and hot permeated them both, leaving them violently shuddering from each other's friction, corresponding each other's sighs and inhales with answering groans and moans.

Electronic pops sounded louder as Harry grinded against him and his scratchy strokes, burying himself deeper and deeper into Severus's cozy embrace, almost laying him flat on the table. He snugged his head beneath his chin near where his heart was beating.

Severus did miss him, so bad, his stuttering satisfied drooling blabber vibrating on his chest— It surged through him, charged his nerves alive. His scar clinched pleasantly and went on, across his scalp down to unfurling toes. His rubbing body on him was drowning him in the mist of pleasure, only he can bring. He barely noticed the charmed scarf beneath him supporting his back like a recliner, girding them both on top of one another, enclosing them with light cushy pressure in a cocoon-like cover.

After the hum in his ear, that prevents the world's intrusion dissipated; he now could decipher what Harry was mumbling into his ribs, sleepily.

' _I need you, Severus. I missed you.. too much. Its only I.. I love you_.. _I love you so much, I love you'_

His heart skipped a beat. Rapidly returned to craze at a random pace that left him forgetting how to breathe. 

_Love_..

It is love, what they call it, then.

His heart affirming his thoughts by a boost in speed, making him lightheaded, his head slunk back, hair splattering as it bumped the table, his hold on Harry's slackened, and the ceiling above him appear to wobble.

Harry's head popped up from under the fur to the sudden motion, glasses missing at one point, face drowsy and flushed, looking around then at him with questioning concern. 

Severus' lips curled to the notion.

_Yes_. 

It can only mean he felt the same, if not more. 

Now that he's back with those fluttering eyes, he can see himself in them. His reflection smiled at him from within those green jades. Sane, calm, assertive, magic flowing from him— back to him, whirling with Harry's, his weight on him is the stabilizer. 

To find himself in him, after he gave him his all.. 

_Logic at its best worse_..

Harry could recognize the smiling curves forming on his cheeks even with his fuzzy vision. He felt Severus fingers disentangling from his hair, dropping down to his nape and tightening fondly. He gave it a quick nudge, and their lips pecked. 

The luscious sensational of them all. Harry's soft numb lips were unresponsive for a second. He could immediately taste the potion that Severus was treated with: beeswax and soothing herbs. 

He puffed with his nose what sounded like a chuckle, wrapping his arms around his head to pillow it, further ceiling their lips together; for eternity...

**** ~~~~

The attic's window rattled on time, the two bottles knocked eachother repeatedly, the storm roared and snow layered through the front door. But Severus Snape heard or felt nothing outside the dome, He and Harry— and his body— called home. 


End file.
